


The Relic

by teenytinydaisydukes



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, Figured I should warn you, Gen, Multi, Some ships appear late in the game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenytinydaisydukes/pseuds/teenytinydaisydukes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finding an intriguing artifact, Ezreal decides to investigate (naturally). But he is not the only one looking for it. Violence brews on the horizon, and dangerous enemies are also on the prowl for the power of the ancients. The Rune Wars destroyed the world before, and power comes with a price. ||  EzLux, GarenKat, other minor pairings as well. Adventure-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Ice and Light

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think in comments/kudos!

.::The Relic::.

 

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

 

_"Lux aeterna luceat eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis"_

 

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

 

The wind howled as badly as it had when they'd crossed the frigid Abyss over an hour ago. it whipped his hair about and sliced across his exposed skin. The snow that was hurled along with it was as white as light glinting off a sharpened blade and hurt as bad as a roaring fire. He was almost grateful for the piles of snow layered on the ground, giving his feet reprieve from the wind above.

Yes, the cold here was brutal, but it was also something that just had to be ignored, considering the circumstances and the cruciality of his goal. Besides, his white-haired guide was dressed in much less than him, and she showed no signs of distress. So he grit his teeth against the frost and kept his eyes trained on her back. Her cape twisted and flew out from behind her, pitch-black against the storm of white, the striking negative of their surroundings. Symbols were etched in gold along the edges of the fabric, and though he couldn't make them out through the storm, he knew they were stitched in one of the most ancient languages of Runeterra, and probably told the lore of the great Freljord Queen Avarosa.

They trekked onwards in silence for what felt like hours to him, endless movement in unmeasurably deep snow. Were they moving forward? Had they turned around? He generally had a good sense of direction, but the blizzard had all but obliterated it. There were no footsteps to trace back from whence they came, no bright, flickering stars in the sky to guide them. All they could do was continue onward.

Finally, his guide came to a pause.

"We're nearly there, Piltoverian." She ran a hand through her snow-white hair, looking back towards him with eyes as storm-grey as the blizzard around them.

"Good." Ezreal's gloved left hand instinctively traced his amulet. Despite the cutting cold of the Freljord, the amulet was warm to the touch, and insulated his other arm quite nicely. This, too, was decorated in runic symbols, although in a different tongue and hailing from a climate much different than that of the snow-ridden Freljord lands. He nodded to his guide. "The sooner the better."

She stood still for a moment, assessing something about him (his integrity, perhaps) before heading forward once more. Ezreal plunged after her, boots sinking into the snow and flurries matting in his hair. He squinted. Through the white and grey of the blizzard, there was a vague trace of... Was it blue?

 _Has to be,_ he realized. _It's near an old vein of crystals, after all._ He sped up, moving as quickly as he could without becoming clumsy in the foul weather.

The closer they got, the more acutely Ezreal became aware of the enormity of what he was doing. Finding this place was just the tip of the iceberg. Centuries had passed since this place had been inhabited. And even if his research was right, and it really was last recorded here in the Freljord, there was no guarantee that it was actually still here... Others could have come and raided the whole place years before.

And that's what he was afraid of.

By now, they had gotten much closer to the vein of raw nexus crystals. It was just like it looked in the books he'd read: A tear in the Earth, and a looming castle -- with high, angular towers and imposing arches, and made of an eerily purple-tinted material-- that seemed to have been built from the depths of Hell. The amulet on Ezreal's arm pulsed lightly, registering the Nexus magic pouring from the vein.

Ashe stopped.

"This is as far as I will go," she said. Even with wind howling at her back and snow cutting at her face, she stood firmly on the snow-covered ground. She spoke like a leader, voice clear and projected. "I sense magic from this place, and it is not of a welcoming kind."

"I wouldn't expect it to be," Ezreal replied, moving forward to stand beside the leader of the Avarosan. His own voice was rougher, like the rest of him. An uncut gemstone, his geeky old techmaturgy professors would say. An untapped, crude resource. "Not here."

Ashe regarded him with curious eyes.

"Don't ask," Ezreal said in reply to her searching look. "I'll tell you if and ONLY if I actually find what I'm looking for."

"And if you don't?"

Ezreal scowled into the blizzard.

"Depends. I might tell you. Probably not, but if... There's reason to believe it's fallen into the wrong hands, I might."

Ashe said nothing.

He didn't know whether that meant she was going to be compliant or not.

"Trust me, it's in your best interest if you DON'T know." Ezreal wiped off some snow that had accumulated on his amulet.

"And for everyone involved, I really hope I DO find it."

 

 

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

 

 

Luxanna Crownguard only vaguely recalled her childhood. Brief, fleeting glimpses of golden-framed memories. (They were mostly good. The vibrant gardens full of charming flowers with lovely aromas that dazzled her eyes and overwhelmed her senses. The high-towering arches of the Royal Chapel, with its shining windows of stained-glass and golden doorways and incense and chants said by men in dull blue robes. Chasing a butterfly that had wandered through the library window, laughing off the concern of her governess as she leapt and twirled between bookcases. Her brother, waving off their mother's concern at the bruise he'd received at training, enlisting Luxanna to support him in the argument.)

(The first time she'd noticed her propensity for light magic.)

But that was where her childhood memories ended. Soon after, her magicks caught the attention of the military, and her training began after that.

Her adult memories were much less golden-framed.

Nonetheless, Luxanna believed in what she'd been taught. She fought for justice, and as an extension of Demacia, she was to perform all things with direction, discipline and diligence. She was a formidable opponent and capable ambassador, and she recognized it. Furthermore, she'd had great success in covert operations.

Danger lurked around every corner.

(It thrilled her.)

Even with everything that had happened, she still clung with all her being to her teachings. Direction, discipline, dilligence. She'd taken the only direction she could, had used as much discipline as she could muster, and somehow, she was here, in the poisoned bowels of the Kumungu jungle.

How very dilligent of her. Garen would be proud.

She stood, beaten, dishevelled, in the center of a pond. Behind her, a stream emptied into it from a slight incline, angled to pour delicately into the water below. The gentle gurgling sound made her sharp, ragged breathing stand out, as if her very life intruded upon something ethereal.

She supposed that it did, in a sense.

Her armor was chipped and covered in things -- blood, dirt, grass, her tears -- and she was grateful for the cold pond water, thankful as it cooled the burning of her wounds, as it washed her clean of pain and sin and death.

Her knotted hair was still golden, but it was most assuredly a cruel (imitation? Parody?) of its normal shade. She hadn't used a comb in a week, at least. And her eyes -- Oh, her _EYES_....

Light fell through the trees shrouding the pond, bathing her in golden sunlight. It warmed her head and skin.

Memories of her childhood spent at the Cathedral swept over her trembling body. The repetitive chant she learned from the monks that she said late at night, finding comfort in the simple words as she repeated them over and over through her ruthless training and terrifying espionage missions. They found their way now to the tip of her tongue, and she said them, over and over and over. 

_This, too, shall end. This, too, shall end, and forever is near. This, too, shall end._

She wept.

 

 

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

 

 

Surprisingly, the stairs were carved into the crystal veins. They took sharp turns and jagged dips, but the stairs showed no signs of wear. Ezreal knew they had been around for at LEAST centuries. It was difficult to carve Nexus stones. To do so meant they had to be painstakingly repressed while the stone was harvested, and then put back together under the sight of a specialized mage. Plus, Nexus stones ran out. They were notoriously short-lived. They had a fairly short half-life of eight years, meaning they had to be replaced ridiculously often. (It was part of what fueled the flames of war between Demacia and Noxus, what made making treaties between nations such a difficult task.) The veins containing the crystals were rare and always contested.

The crystals themselves had a set amount of magic. Their power was limited.

To be so pristinely preserved here meant the crystal veins ran deep and tapped into enormous loads of power, power that seeped into the surrounding rocks and coated the carved stone. The blue shining on the surface and decorating the mountainside like an inverted waterfall was barely a hint of the treasure trove within.

The snow that landed on the winding stairs seemed to disappear on contact. It wafted down -- wafted was the wrong word, for this weather; pelted was honestly the best word -- and then, suddenly, when it was perhaps an inch or two above the glowing steps or carved mountainside, it halted, shivering as if chilled by its own cold, before disappearing in the blink of an eye. It gave the stairway a foggy appearance, with snow seeming to gather and fade the way it was.

Ezreal knew better than to think it was a strange fog: Nexus magic was transporting the snow elsewhere. He didn't know where, exactly. But it was definitely going _some_ where.

In any case, he had no desire to follow the snow to somewhere else entirely when he'd come all this way to get past it, so he took the only alternate route: the jagged cliffside left uncarved and unblemished by the raw power of the Nexus vein.

It was a perilous journey, even for someone as prepared as he was. Bad weather, bad vision, bad timing -- literally anything could go wrong at a moment's notice, and he'd find himself meeting a swift and probably painful end.

He _lived_ for this.

He'd tied off rope to secure him (and added some safety magic and techmaturgy precautions, just to be sure) as he descended into the pit, painstakingly climbing down, down, down. One misstep, and even with the rope, things could go wrong. He could slip and cut the rope against the sharp rocks; he could lose his balance and the wind could rip him away from the wall; or the wind could batter him against it. If he didn't plan where he moved his hands and feet, he could wind up wasting time and energy trying to reposition himself. He could plumb run out of energy completely, collapsing from exhaustion.

So he was careful.

He thought the cold had seeped into his skin long before, but gradually he got even colder. The farther down he went, the worse it got. His amulet began to visibly pulse, sending out warm waves of magic. It helped. The stairwell built from the Nexus vein grew larger and brighter across the canyon from him.

And the battlements of the castle grew closer.

 

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

 

 **AN:** This is just the prologue. I hope you all find it intriguing! This has been spinning around in my head for a while. Let me know what you think! Personally, I love the League lore. I'd like to see more done with it. Game-wise, I'm only a so-so player, so lore really helps me enjoy the game more. Anyway, summer's starting for me, so whoop whoop! Party hard, summoners!

xoxoPigTails


	2. Chapter Two

.::The Relic::.

 

 

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

 

Musty.

 

Musty.

 

Surprisingly musty.

 

Ezreal swiped a gloved finger delicately along the chipped floor. Dust caught to the leather fabric. Above him, light filtered through the cracked mud roofing, dust spinning in the rays; a few tendrils of leafy plants curled through the openings as well, winding their way through the cracks.

It was a typical abandoned Shuriman temple. Terribly cliche. Mud walls, an ancient layer of magic that had long since lost its power to protect the building from the elements, and dust. Way, way too much dust.

It was a shame, in a way. Once, people had flooded the halls of this place. Now, Ezreal walked through the structure alone, the first person in a very long time to come looking for the secrets that had been lost here for hundreds of years, hidden beneath sand and sun.

There was so much hidden beneath the dust.

His boots scraped against the floor.

So why was it so musty here if it was in the middle of a desert? His eyes glanced up at the plants.

There was a water source nearby. Obviously.

Hopefully it wasn't in the unfortunate shape of an underground flooded-library. That would bite, because then he'd basically have wasted his time for some unsalvageable papers.

He pressed on, maneuvering between broken pieces of wall or roof and hopping over an occasional root or flower, his eyes absorbing his surroundings. Shuriman structures usually had art decorating the walls, generally depicting interesting fables or such things. But this building was plain, which was odd, since it was certainly large enough to bode such fanciful features. Nobody poor lives in a big house, after all.

But the walls were simple mud bricks. Strong, but boring to look at. And distinctly Shuriman, by the way they were made to last weathering.

Strange.

He came to what he'd been looking for: a stairwell. Built in Shuriman fashion, right into a wall. Why bother adding another entryway when one could just as easily be carved?

He snatched a turgelight from his belt, clicking it on. It illuminated a number of cobwebs, and -surprise- more dust. He pulled his scarf up above his nose, squinted, and then pushed past the webs, boots scraping against the mud brick steps.

Then he proceeded carefully downward, mindful of the increasing smell of mold. If it got too bad, he would have to turn back and come back later with a proper face mask. He cursed his lack of preparation. To be fair, though, he hadn't expected to need one in the middle of a desert. Not a mask for mildew and must, anyway.

Sand, though, he could deal with.

Which is why when he reached the bottom of the stairs and his boots crunched sharply but softly against sand, he frowned.

He had expected sand. But he had also expected water.

There was no water in sight.

So strange.

It was a library, just as he'd expected. Ezreal looked around unabashedly. Rows and rows of mudstone bookcases, nearly all of them full, with all sorts of things on the shelves. From where he stood, he could see the bound, yellowed papyrus pages of books one would expect in a long-buried library, but he also spotted rolled and coiled scrolls and maps, unlit candles in stands of black stone, vials of many-colored liquids, and all sorts of other prizes any explorer or archeologist would thrill to find.

(All of it, covered in dust.)

And the room itself was expansive. The roof was low, barely missing the bookshelves by an inch or two. But the room was also long. He counted at least nine bookcases across his immediate field of vision, and many rows behind those.

As much as his fingers itched to flip through every last book here, he refrained, instead following his nose and eyes.

A single weed poked through the mudbricks and sand of the library floor, a little flower bud at its tip. It was small, and in its current location Ezreal doubted it would live long, considering the lack of sunlight.

But the plant gave him an exact idea of where the source of water was hidden.

Ezreal ignored the lure of dust-covered knowledge and instead began tapping roughly along the walls.

Mudbricks were some of the sturdiest building materials of the ancient world, and the still-standing structures of Shurima were testaments to that. It wouldn't surprise him if there was another hidden floor beneath the one he stood on now; even built on top of sand, the mudbrick building was more than strong enough to withstand the weight of multiple stories.

He continued tapping, and made his way slowly along one wall, and then another.

And then he found it.

A hollower part of the wall.

He tapped again, just to make sure; it ringed dully back at him, and unlike the other parts of the wall, where he only barely heard the rapping of his knuckles on the mudbricks, this spot echoed the knocks.

Meaning: He'd found the secret passageway.

Grinning, Ezreal pulled his scarf up, covering his mouth and nose with it. This door probably hadn't been used in ages, meaning that the dust in the hallway would be thick, and mudbrick fragments from the door would likely scatter around him.

Then, he pushed.

It slid back, but not easily. As he'd predicted, pieces of the door and passageway, worn and unused for years, crumbled and fell from the sudden friction. Ezreal closed his eyes, shielding his face and eyes with an arm over his head, and continued pushing with his other hand.

Finally, with a groan, the mudbrick passage opened, knocking against the wall opposite it. There it stopped. Ezreal, after dusting himself off, observed that this door didn't slide open, but simply slid backwards and forwards along what looked to be metal rails, whose anti-rusting enchantments seemed to still hold.

A narrow corridor greeted him, and the formerly musty smell turned pungent; Ezreal grimaced. It smelled like someone had let mold grow here for centuries. Which was probably true, he conceded, but even so, it reeked.

He edged forward cautiously. At least in his experience, he found that secret places were the most dangerous. Some of them were set with magical barriers, others poisonous creatures, and even more with deadly pitfalls and traps. He was careful with each step he took, his heart racing with the thrill of it all.

Finally, he came to an open archway. He passed under it.

He couldn't help his sharp intake of breath at what he saw before him.

He stood at the top of a steep stairwell that descended deeper into the large cavern he'd just stumbled upon. An underground lake, with a broad stream still emptying into it, stretched from the opposite end of the cavern to about halfway to the stairwell. Stalactites hung from the high ceiling, beautiful and terrifying because of their sheer length. The sound of the rushing water echoed through the cavern, dulled only slightly by the tall stalagmites bordering the lake. Roots from some of the plants on the upper floors coiled around the edges of the cave, weaving their way from the water source to the roof and disappearing into its cracks.

But there were two more interesting subjects in the cavern that drew Ezreal's attention.

The first were the still-glowing runes etched onto the bottom of the lake floor. Made of purple Nexus essence, the runes shone lightly, showing they still held their power even after all these years. Surrounding those were some white objects that flickered with the purple light emitted from the runes.

The second interesting thing was what these runes surrounded. It was clearly an object of some sort; from such a high vantage point, Ezreal couldn't make out what it was. But it seemed to pulse beneath the murky lake water.

It was intriguing.

He decided to take a closer look. He descended the stairs carefully until he reached the bottom. The mildewy smell was probably coming from the roof, which had no doubt accumulated copious amounts of water all these years. He pushed past the stalagmites bordering the lake. He took a step forward, observing the body of water before him now.

Surprisingly, the water was crystal clear, and Ezreal bet it had to do with those runes.

He couldn't repress his shiver at the skeletons lying at the bottom of the lake. They formed a ring around the runes, and though their flesh had decayed, their bones were a bright, eerie white.

He really hoped they weren't enchanted to come back to life if anyone intruded on their grave, or something like that.

Because that was exactly what he was going to do.

 

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

 

It was gross. Very, very gross.

Katarina du Couteau did not even try to hide her disgust.

"The air is filthy."

The city-state of Noxus was known for its harshness, both in its climate as well as its inhabitants. The winters were cold and sharp, and the summers were hot and dry.

The extreme humidity of the tropical forests, however, was not something Noxians were well-accustomed to.

Katarina let out a sound of disapproval.

"Don't you think it's gross?"

In reply, Talon said nothing.

Katarina huffed unhappily.

"It's gross."

Talon only gave Katarina a blank look before continuing onward. She recognized that look; it was one he' mastered long ago, so it hid his true emotions behind it.

In other words: he was probably amused at her distress, but chose not to show it.

The two traipsed along through the Kumungu Jungles. They had been assigned by the military (read: Swain) to investigate the whereabouts of a certain ancient temple.

And kill the explorers trying to find it.

Katarina let out another frustrated sigh before jogging in front of Talon. She began climbing one of the thick trees, easily swinging her body upwards and grabbing hold of the crooks between joined branches, until she was just below the canopy of the treeline. She looked down and, through the foliage, saw Talon regarding her with what she was now 110% sure was amusement. (His expressions were subtle. You had to look for the slight upturn of his lips, or the slight softening of the look in his eyes, and from her distance, she could see neither. But she just KNEW.)

"I'm bored," she supplied.

"It's hotter up there," Talon warned her. She rolled her eyes. He was right. She knew that. She felt more beads of sweat forming on her forehead now than before. (Partly from exertion, but she'd barely worked up a sweat from the simple climbing exercise.)

But she was bored and hot, and she had to do SOMEthing.

Swain had given them very few details. The whole thing seemed sketchy. (Granted, assassin work in general was sketchy, but this assignment was especially so.) They had only been told that somewhere in these jungles, a group of explorers from various city-states were searching for a temple of some sort. Katarina and Talon were to find this group, kill them, and steal or learn as much knowledge about the temple's whereabouts and contents as possible; it did not have to happen in any specific order, so long as they got results.

Swain had essentially cleared them for torture. Which was not overly unusual for Swain. But it was unusual for him to assign both du Couteau assassins to the same mission, and even more so that he was giving assassins free reign to torture at all. An assassin was supposed to find and kill their target as quickly and quietly as possible. There was no room for torture.

It didn't add up, and it bugged the hell out of Katarina.

She knew Talon had his suspicions as well. Not that he would voice them, of course. Oh no. Mister "silent but deadly" would keep his thoughts to himself. Which also bugged the hell out of Katarina. But at least when it came to Talon, she knew him well enough to read him. She'd learned to, over the many years they'd spent together.

She couldn't read Swain at all. And she couldn't read far enough between the lines to get to the real meaning of this mission, either. She knew she was missing something. Something obvious, too.

But WHAT?

All in all, she did NOT like the situation.

Katarina tensed her muscles in anticipation before leaping to the nearest tree in front of her, landing lithely on the branch. It wobbled just enough for her to have to duck down and grip the branch with one of her hands to keep balanced.

Whenever Kat got bored, she trained.

So she took to the canopy of the Kumungu Jungle, testing her coordination as she leapt from tree to tree. Below her, Talon continued on foot, moving faster than her. She pushed herself to keep up, forcing her body to adjust quickly.

It was good training. And more importantly, it gave her something to do to pass the time. Took her mind off her suspicions and unanswered questions.

It was just her, the branches, and the empty space between them.

After a while, she fell into what she could only call a trance. A mind state in which you didn't think much, you just DID. It happened every time she trained, and every time she battled. It made her focus on the present, on surroundings and action and RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

She barely registered she'd passed Talon up when, with her senses heightened from her activity, she heard the unmistakeable sound of conversation.

She paused, crouching against the tree she'd been preparing to leap off of, and trained her hearing intently, trying to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. She took in the lack of breeze, the relative stillness of the trees around her. A few tree-inhabiting creatures were carefully watching the distance, completely unaware of her and Talon's presence. (No surprise there; they were skilled assassins. Detection was simply not tolerated in their line of work.)

She looked to where the animals did.

There was barely a rustle as she hopped off the tree and landed softly on the ground below, right beside an unsurprised Talon.

"Found them?" he asked.

"Maybe." With that, she hurried ahead, Talon following silently behind her, their footfalls not making a sound.

Katarina suddenly halted. Her muscles tensed. Talon took in her appearance - wide-eyed, emotions flickering across her face, looking for all the world like she might either flee or lash out - and then approached her.

She flinched as he stepped next to her, intentionally crunching a leaf beneath his boot.

Curious. Kat was rarely startled, even when Talon tried to sneak up on her. What did she hear that made her drop her guard so suddenly?

"You alright?"

She didn't answer.

She suddenly wasn't in a talking mood.

She turned, just a bit, and marched onward.

Talon glanced to the side.

She was ignoring the noticeably loud chatter.

He shrugged it off. She had her reasons. She could put it off as long as she wanted.

As long as they got the job done eventually, Talon didn't care how long they let their targets live. His job was to kill them. But his orders didn't specify WHEN. Not exactly, anyway.

Good enough for him.

He silently followed Katarina's retreating form, but not before taking one last intrigued glance in the direction of the noise.

 

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait. I was having trouble getting the scenes just right. Especially Ezreal's bit. I went back and edited that section for weeks.
> 
> Thanks for your patience, and drop a comment/review please!
> 
> xoxoPigTails


End file.
